I think I have always had deep rooted feelings about submission. I was a very well behaved little girl and hardly ever misbehaved. My parents were not especially strict, and even if they had been I gave them little if anything to be strict about. I always did as I was told. I am an only child. This is something that a lot of people find interesting or significant. But as I have always been an only child it has always seemed to me to be entirely normal and I have nothing to compare it with.
I say I was a well behaved child - yes that is true but it is not the whole picture. I was also a curious child, and I would perhaps wander too far from where I was meant to be, and try out things I had no business trying.
I remember very little from when I was very young. My first memory was walking in a patch of poppies in the garden. They came up to my waist, so I suppose I would have been about 2 ft tool. We lived in the countryside so I had little contact with other children. Did this affect me? Again it seemed perfectly normal to me.
I do remember that it was a real novelty to meet lots of other children when I first went to school. In particular the boys. They fascinated me then. Not quite the way they fascinate me now, but not entirely different. I liked boys more than girls. They were naughty and adventurous. They had opinions. They would fight each other. The girls would fight from time to time, but never in the way the boys would.
At the age of 11 we all moved onto the senior schools - the boys going their way to theirs and most of us girls going to the local all girls school. Boys disappeared from my day to day life. But not from my thoughts. I carried on thinking about them a lot.
This became even more intense when one day when I was either 12 or 13 I found a book in my parents’ bedroom that had a huge impact on me. It was the Story of O. I used to read it as quickly as I could whenever I could get it away from its hiding place for some time. My fascination with males grew. In fact it expanded, like something in your hand that grows in size as you are holding it.
But as I said, I didn’t really come into contact with boys my own age while I was at school. I think this probably meant that my mental interactions with them were even more vivid than they would have been had I met a few more of them in real life. Other people’s fantasies are rarely interesting, but I simply cannot pass over them because they made me into the person that I am. I don’t think real flesh and blood can make such a deep mark on the teenage mind.
The men I dreamed about were men, not boys. But somehow their age never really mattered. They were old enough to have authority, but young enough to be fit and strong. Whatever age that is, that is what they were. I find men in their forties most attractive now. I suppose that is the age they were.
I was always trying my best to please them, in ways that became increasingly sexual as I got older. And they were always in charge and telling me what to do.
I would also find myself getting punished a lot. Bent over the knee and spanked was one common one. Later whips, canes and riding crops began to feature. I’d been very struck by the passivity of O in the book, and how she just accepted what was administered to her. In my dreams the men commanded and I simply obeyed. I didn’t think much about the actual pain - it was more the power they exerted that excited me.
One very common one, that I replayed thousands of times in my head, had me bringing an instrument - sometimes a cane, sometimes a tawse or similar whip type thing - into an office where he was waiting. I would then end up over the desk. The clothing or lack of it varied. I would then be taken to a bed where we had sex. But that was simply the way it ended. It was the punishment that was the point.
Yet another one - one that has stayed with me for years and I still have sometimes. I am lined up with other girls on a small stage. We are all chained up to the back of a low stage. In front is an auctioneer describing us and coaxing bids from a crowd of men. We are all trying to look as good as we can in the hope of fetching a good price. When I was very young I would stand up straight and smile and try to look as good as I could. As I got older I got more worldly wise. I pushed my breasts forward and licked my lips. I would be bought by a tall dark man in a top hat and led through the room on a chain by my new owner. He remained grim and silent. Then it fades out. As I say, these are my fantasies, they aren’t designed to be of interest to anyone else or to follow a plot with a proper ending.
My father was not at all like the men about whom I dreamed. He was as far from a strict disciplinarian with me as it was possible to be. He wouldn’t in any case have needed to be particularly strict as I was exceptionally well behaved. But I never remember him ever being angry with either me or my mother. He was a very good listener. It is only now looking back that I realise how unusual that was. I only had one father so I supposed that was what they are all like.
Of course what you probably realised several paragraphs back was that there was more to him. As a naive pre-teen it never crossed my mind that what I was reading in the Story of O might play any part in my parents’ actual lives. I didn’t even wonder which of them had carefully hidden it behind the lamp cupboard, or how it came to be so well thumbed. I was at least 18, and probably 19 before the obvious finally caught up with me. As I say, you only have one father, so how I was I to know that most men don’t have about 20 leather belts in their wardrobe. My parents are still alive. I wonder whether I should talk to them about it all. I don’t feel any particular need to. Perhaps not everything needs to be discussed.
It was perhaps just as well that opportunities to mingle with males were a rare thing as I was growing up. I did get to meet up with one boy, a tall and rather good looking seventeen year old. I remember it all clearly. It was about a week before my fifteenth birthday - I felt very grown up and he seemed to be too, to me at least. He had made friends with me simply by saying hi in the street when I was out shopping. He suggested going to the park together. (This was about 2 miles from home, so not somewhere I went on my own.) He managed to get me on my own on a spot on the bank of the river where we couldn’t be seen.
When you are not quite fifteen you don’t know some quite obvious things. For example it never crossed my mind that a boat might have gone by.
After some fairly innocent kissing my inner sub came to the surface. I was already thinking over the Story of O. I asked him if there was anything he wanted me to do. He was a bit hesitant. But he was a sensible boy and explained, with a red face that indicated he hadn’t thought this far ahead, that he had no means of contraception on him. I suggested that I could suck him instead. Again, he clearly hadn’t thought this through. But he got his cock out so he wasn’t too disturbed.
I had never seen one before. It was quite a bit larger than I had imagined. I had imagined something along the lines of about twice the thickness of a pen. This was pretty much comparable to a banana. I know now that they vary in size quite a bit, but for now I was still at the discovery stage. It wasn’t too big to get into my mouth though, which was what I wanted to do.
It was a pleasant feeling - warm and comforting. What I hadn’t really thought through was what I was going to do next. Luckily he helped by moving his hips so that it moved in and out of my mouth a little. I quickly picked up on his rythmn and matched it. I wondered what was supposed to happen next. Luckily he came really quickly - less than a minute. Now I knew what to do. I swallowed it all. That was what the dominant men in my dreams always required.
I spent a happy half an hour resting my head on his stomach. We walked back into town. That was the last time I ever saw him.
I wasn’t really unhappy about that, though I spun it out into a great tragedy of a story when I talked to my friends about it at school. But as my one and only sexual experience it had a big impact on my fantasies. I had never had sex or done any of the other things I fantasised about. But I had actually given a boy a blow job. Oral sex became the main focus of my fantasies. Or me performing oral sex to be precise. I hadn’t got anything in return from my encounter so that remained in the dreamed about but never felt category.
I had soon come up with a range of scenarios. My favourite was the simplest. I was called into a room. Ordered to take my clothes off. Ordered to kneel. And then the master would use my mouth. The details changed. Sometimes there would be several men. Sometimes I would be tied up, perhaps a little, perhaps a lot.
But none of what was going on in my head was visible to anyone who knew me. I was a well behaved and attentive student who did all that was required of her. As a result, even though it wasn’t something I was particularly attempting to do, I did well at school. I didn’t do as well as the really driven girls, the ones who really bought into the whole education thing. But I was usually in the top quarter. In science, I was usually in the top handful.
My exam results were pretty good and I found that I was able to apply to more or less any university. I decided against maths purely because it was the only one I found I had to work at to keep good at. I loved biology, especially after reading the Selfish Gene. Once again, I let a book lead me in the direction I would take. I was persuaded by my teacher that biochemistry would give me better job prospects than straight biology. I suppose she knew what she was talking about.
So I ended up at university in London studying biochemistry. I took well enough to student life. Sex, drugs and rock and roll were all now freely available. I didn’t do drugs. I recommend studying biochemistry if you want to be put off drugs. Rock and roll has never really excited me, nor any particular type of music. But I went to clubs to meet people. I went to concerts to hear music. Sex on the other hand, I took to with enthusiasm.
I enjoyed sex and had a few flings, a few adventures. But the men I met didn’t really grab me. I didn’t dare reveal my extreme tastes to any of them on the first couple of dates, and somehow none of them seemed to get beyond a couple of dates. It was my disinterest that was the road block. One guy, poor boy, I simply forgot I had slept with. He rang me and I couldn’t remember who he was.
But I made friends with girls as well, and it was much easier to talk to them about what I was interested in. Some agreed, some disagreed. It was something to talk about that we all had an opinion on. I listened carefully and learned what I could.
Then there was the department Christmas party. This was a sort of corporate thing in a way. The department had a couple of projects funded by a couple of sponsors who were invited to a drinks and nibbles event one afternoon. We were supposed to be on our best behaviour - so I was dutifully there in my pencil skirt and jacket looking for all the world like a secretary. One of my chums, who actually was a secretary in the department but who looked more like a student this day, pointed out a guy, one of the sponsors. “That’s David, you have a lot in common. You should talk to him.”
I blushed. It was obvious what she meant, but I chose to misunderstand and spent the rest of the time consciously avoiding him. But he seemed to be seeking me out. In fact he had received the same message from the same source. He was seeking me out. Eventually he trapped me and started chatting. He was it turned out, entirely charming. He talked to me as if he had known me for years. He suggested going back to his place in Berkshire. To my amazement I agreed.
As we drove back he told me about himself and about his philosophy. He liked to be in charge. He thought that women were at their best when subservient to the right kind of man. He just assumed I would go along with it. It was incredibly sexy.